


Fucked Up Sansby Week 2: Electric Boogaloo

by talkingsoup



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aphrodisiacs, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Complicated Relationships, Depression, Drug Use, Drunk Texting, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Explicit Sexual Content, Fingering, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Praise Kink, Sans Is Ace, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingsoup/pseuds/talkingsoup
Summary: Semi-connected drabbles about the suffer orb and the fire man.With respect to Illegalsekrit and Withtheworms





	1. Prompt 1: Waiting (Normal People)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter includes **internalized acephobia**

Grillby wasn’t materialistic by any stretch. He kept his apartment above the restaurant relatively sparse, furniture-wise, and didn’t have much in the way of knick-knacks. There were only two decorations on his walls--one was a poster of a rock band that Sans had never heard of, and the other was a poster depicting various hot peppers of the world, complete with Scoville rankings. As far as Sans knew, the only things Grillby ever really splurged on were kitchen utensils, and his bed.

The bed was  _ unbelievably  _ comfortable, with the softest sheets Sans had ever felt and a springy mattress that, fortunately, didn’t squeak too much. It was queen-sized, which was perfect for a flame elemental who tended to roll a lot in his sleep, and draped in plush blankets and a quilted comforter. Grillby had said something about thread count at some point, but Sans hadn’t really been paying attention. Sans just knew that it was probably the best place in the world to sleep. Certainly a thousand times better than his bare mattress at home.

It was pretty damn good for other things too. Sans felt like he was sinking into a warm cloud as Grillby perched above him, body almost flush with Sans’s. Grillby cradled his face with one hand as he kissed him, tongue exploring his mouth while his fingers explored Sans’s bare ribs. Sans gripped Grillby’s shoulders, holding him close, trembling as Grillby’s fingers easily found all the good spots he knew so well. Sans was dizzy from the heat and the sensation of Grillby’s mouth and hands on him, his bones humming with magic.

Not in the right places, though. Not yet. Grillby hadn’t touched his pelvis at all--he was always so careful--and nothing they had done in the last hour had lit that spark. Sometimes it took something specific, and sometimes it took conscious effort, and sometimes it just  _ happened,  _ without any input from Sans or from anyone else. It was never as annoying as it was now, when he already felt amazing, when he was in a good mood, when Grillby was hungrily kissing him again after a week-long dry spell. When he could feel Grillby’s erection through his pants, even though Grillby was trying to be careful, waist hoisted above Sans as he tried not to grind down.

Grillby wanted to fuck him. Sans wanted to let himself bliss out, to stop thinking and enjoy a night of just  _ this,  _ just Grillby near him and touching him and kissing him. It should have been easy, with how utterly comfortable he was, but he could feel his thoughts beginning to coalesce and congeal. It was always so stupid, trying to reason with his own body like this. Thinking about sex with a sort of clinical detachment--envisioning Grillby’s cock, the size and shape of it, how it would feel inside him. The movement, the friction, the sounds, how long they would both last. How good the orgasm would feel. All of it, completely removed from actual desire or arousal.

_ Normal  _ people didn’t have to think about it this much, didn’t have to break it all down into qualifiable parts, just to try and force themselves to feel something. Did he have to be such a goddamn scientist all the time?

_ Come on,  _ he thought as he deepened the kiss and shifted his grip to hold Grillby’s face.  _ Come on, just do it. He’s been waiting all week. _

Grillby’s fingers trailed down along his spine, pressing heat into the discs. Sans inhaled sharply as Grillby found that perfect spot between two of his lower vertebrae, making him arch upwards.

_ Just do it. Form something and give it to him. _

_ He’ll never forgive you if he finds out, _ another voice countered.

_ If he finds out. _

_ Of course he’ll find out. It’ll hurt. He’ll see it right away. _

_ He wants it. _

_ Yeah, asshole? Enough to be okay with hurting you? He’s not a piece of shit like you are. _

Grillby’s hand moved further downward. Slowly, carefully, he started to slip his fingers below Sans’s waistband. Heat spread from his fingertips, warming the bone and doing absolutely nothing else.

This was the part Sans always dreaded.

“Wait.”

Grillby stopped with his fingers less than an inch down Sans’s shorts. He sat upward enough to catch Sans’s eye.

“No good?”

“I’m okay, just…” Sans squirmed a little, trying to draw a bit more heat from Grillby’s fingers, desperately hoping it would start something. It was warm, and it felt damn good.

It just wasn’t  _ that _ kind of good.

“Sorry.”

Grillby withdrew his fingers with the smallest, faintest of sighs.

“It’s alright.”

“No it’s not.”

“Shh.” Grillby moved upward again and kissed Sans on the edge of his neck. “It’s alright. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“You want it,” Sans said, staring past him to the ceiling. “You’ve been waiting all week.”

“I can wait awhile longer.”

Grillby tried to kiss his mouth but Sans turned away.

“You shouldn’t  _ have  _ to.”

“Sans. Seriously.” Grillby couldn’t reach his mouth so he kissed Sans’s jaw instead. “It’s alright. I’m not upset. Besides, I’m used to this.”

He had probably meant it to sound comforting, but all it did was remind Sans of how many times this had happened. How many times he had shut Grillby down in the middle of things, how many times he had left Grillby frustrated. Even if Grillby was very good at hiding it. Sans clenched his jaw for a moment.

“You’re rock hard.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Grillby scooted upward a little so that his waist was further away. “I was trying to control it.”

“No, it’s--” Sans lost his thread for a second as Grillby ran a finger along the underside of his sternum. “--It’s natural, I get it. I meant it’s just--not fair to you, to have to--”

Grillby made an exasperated sound. “My dick’s not going to fall off if I don’t stick it somewhere, Sans.”

That got Sans to snort a little, mostly at the image it presented. Would it be like the little flames that sometimes got away from him when he wasn’t thinking, or like when he used magic to light fires? Just a dick made of fire flopping away across the floor. Maybe it would burn the building down, and then they’d both have to explain that to the rest of Snowdin.

“Pfft, okay, okay. Talk about a killer orgasm, though.”

Grillby gave a vague hum that was almost laughter, vibrating through Sans’s neck and jaw. The ticklish feeling made Sans chuckle out loud.

“But seriously,” he said, finally turning his head back to face Grillby. “I could suck you off or something.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

“You don’t.”

“Just gonna call me out like that, huh,” Sans said mulishly, slipping his arms around Grillby’s neck again. “I don’t  _ not  _ want to, either.”

“Sans.”

“I’m serious. Sucking dick is like…” Sans waved a hand vaguely. “What’s a nicer word for ‘meaningless’?”

Grillby made another of those exasperated sounds and braced his forehead against Sans’s shoulder.

“I just mean it’s like--something I can do without needing to like…be turned on or want it or…look, this shit is hard to explain, okay?”

“Clearly,” Grillby said against his shoulder. “But I really don’t know how many times I need to tell you that I’m  _ not  _ going to make you do something you don’t want to.”

“I’m  _ offering.” _

“And I’m saying no,” Grillby said, more firmly this time. “End of discussion.”

Great. Now Sans had made him angry on top of the rest of it. The evening had been going pretty well before Sans had decided to open his stupid mouth. Just like him to ruin a perfectly good thing. Even the bed was starting to feel more suffocating than comfortable.

Grillby stayed perched above him for a few long moments, face buried in Sans’s neck. Sans didn’t move, staring up at the ceiling again.

“Do you want to stop?” Grillby asked quietly.

The problem had always been that what Sans  _ wanted _ always boiled down into fluffy, sappy bullshit. Even when the desire and the attraction were there, it could be reduced into simpler things like--Grillby holding him, Grillby touching him, falling asleep curled up under Grillby’s arm. Pathetic, cheesy little things that couples did. And they weren’t a couple. They hung out and they bantered and occasionally they did things like this, and even more occasionally they did the whole sex thing. Friends with benefits, and the benefits were tipped steeply in Sans’s favor. He could get everything he wanted from a kiss or two. Grillby couldn’t.

What a shitty deal for him. 

“Maybe we should.”

There was that tiny, disappointed sigh again.

“Alright,” Grillby said, starting to sit back. “I’m sorry. I can’t always control it.”

“No, I know, that’s not what--I’m not upset at you.” Sans let go and draped an arm over his eyesockets. “Just, sorry for getting you all  _ hot and bothered,  _ heh.”

“You can’t control it any more than I can.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t--”

No, this had to stop. Sans could feel himself spiraling, and Grillby didn’t need to see that. Sans had ruined more than enough already. He made himself grin and began scooting away toward the edge of the bed. The bed sank beneath him like it didn’t want him to go.

“Eh, whatever,” he said airily. “We can try again some other time.”

“If you want,” Grillby said, like a nail in a coffin. Like what Sans wanted even  _ mattered.  _ Sans slid his legs over the side of the bed and stretched languidly, cracking his spine.

“You don’t have to leave,” Grillby said, the faintest note of a plea in his voice. “You can spend the night.”

Sans leaned over the edge to gather up his shirt and hoodie.

“Nah, when I fall asleep in your bed it’s  _ basically  _ impossible for me to leave.” Sans looked back at Grillby and grinned, bouncing in place a little. “I don’t know how you manage to get out of it every morning. I could practically live here.”

There was a somewhat surreal moment where Sans felt like he could see Grillby’s entire thought process. He watched as Grillby realized that Sans was deflecting, got frustrated about it, debated whether to call him on it, decided it wasn’t worth it this time, and then begrudgingly decide to play along.

Being observant was kind of a curse sometimes.

“Believe me, the temptation is there,” Grillby said dryly. “It’s surprisingly hard to work in a kitchen while lying down.”

Sans wrestled himself into his shirt and hoodie, chuckling and getting an elbow stuck in the hood briefly.

“I’d be  _ lying  _ if I said I wouldn’t pay money to see you try.”

He stood up fully and turned around. Grillby was sitting up in the middle of the bed now, so Sans didn’t have to lean too far in. He kissed Grillby quickly on the mouth and stayed close when he broke away.

“Sorry again,” he muttered. “See ya tomorrow.”

Grillby started to reach for him, but Sans pulled back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Yes,” Grillby said, dropping his hand. “Goodnight, Sans.”


	2. Prompt 2: Smoke (sometimes where there's smoke it's just a smoke machine, honey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans tries to get high and get off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **internalized acephobia, drug use, what could be described as self-harm**
> 
> Chapter Tags: masturbation, fantasizing, weed is legal in the underground, other stuff isn't

Toward the end of the night, Sans started keeping an eyesocket on Punky Hamster. When Punky got up to clear out his tab and head home for the night, Sans did the same, even though it was a bit early for him. Sans followed him out, at a bit of a distance. It was a pretty shitty attempt at casual. Anyone who was watching and had half a brain would know what he was up to, but fortunately at this time a night, the regulars had maybe four brain cells between them. Grillby was the only one who seemed to notice, but he didn’t say a word.

Sans waited until he was sure the door had swung closed behind him.

“Hey, Punky. Got a sec?”

Punky was a few yards further down the street but not out of earshot. He stopped and turned on his heel.

“Hey,” he said, and jerked his chin toward the alley behind Grillby’s. “Step into my office?”

He went and Sans followed, casting a quick glance up and down the street. It was late, and colder than usual, so even the furry folk weren’t out. The alley itself was empty. Punky gave Sans a brisk smile and leaned back against the wall.

“So what you after?” he said. “It’s been awhile, huh? I’ve got a couple new stains. They’re growing some wild stuff in Waterfall these days.”

“Nah, if I wanted weed I woulda just asked indoors,” Sans said, shrugging easily despite his nerves. “I need something more specific.”

“Oh. Fair point.” Punky tapped his chin. “I never pegged you as being into the illegal stuff. Or is this more of a one time thing?”

“Depends.” Sans tried not to look over his shoulder like a paranoid newbie. “I’m looking for something to like, uh--enhance stuff in the bedroom.”

“Oh.” Punky blinked at him in obvious surprise. “Wow, really?”

“Yeah,” Sans said, more thankful than ever that the word “shame” hadn’t been in his vocabulary for about a decade. “And I realize I’m giving you pretty good blackmail material here, but I also know about your crush on Dizzy, so I figure we’re even.”

Punky cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Okay, wow, I’m both terrified at the fact that you know that, and offended that you think I would rat out my clients.”

Sans couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to question your professionalism.”

“So some kind of aphrodisiac. I thought you were ace?”

Sans hadn’t realized that his sexuality was common knowledge. He was already regretting literally everything about this decision, but he was too deep in now. Just had to get through this and then go home and maybe avoid talking to Punky for a day or two.

“So?”

Punky shrugged. “It might not even work for you.”

“I mean, I figured. Also figured I got nothing to lose if I give it a shot.”

Punky gave him a curious look but started digging around in his voluminous pockets. If Sans was a walking lint and ketchup packet dispensary, Punky was a walking pharmacy. Yet somehow he never seemed to have so much as a pill on him whenever the Royal Guard questioned him.

Eventually, Punky came up with a small bag of some kind of crushed brown plant material.

“Dare I ask what it’s called?”

“It’s got a really stupid name that I hate saying out loud,” Punky said. “How much you want?”

Sans studied the crushed leaves, scratching the back of his neck. This was a bad idea. This was such a stupid idea, and yet here he was, because he was clearly the god of bad decisions.

“Enough for, I dunno, two doses I guess.”

Punky moved to set the bag on top of a trash can lid, then started doing something arcane involving a scale and what looked like a petri dish. Sans pretended to know exactly what he was doing, hovering nearby to watch. Punky muttered a price and Sans had no idea whether it was expensive or not. The fewer questions, the better. Sans just handed over the gold and Punky gave him a tiny bag that slipped easily into his pocket.

“I’d recommend smoking it near a window,” Punky said as he put away his things. “It smells like feet.”

“Cool. Good to know.”

“Anyway. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Sans made himself scarce. The word “shame” wasn’t in his vocabulary, but “coward” sure was.

  
  
  


Papyrus was out on a night shift, which was literally the only reason why Sans felt he could get away with bringing drugs into the house. Papyrus hated the smell of cigarette smoke and weed smoke equally, and Sans doubted whatever this shit was would go over well either. And the last thing he needed was Papyrus noticing that this one smelled different and asking what it was.

Sans knew full well this was a bad idea, but his last three nights with Grillby over the past week had all gone nowhere. No matter what Sans did or how he tried to goad himself, nothing happened. Grillby kept saying it was fine, and he wasn’t the sort of person to make demands, but he deserved better than this. He deserved better than Sans, frankly, but for some reason, Sans was who he wanted. The least Sans could do was accommodate him.

Grillby would probably hate the idea of Sans using drugs to get himself in the mood, but that was why Sans had gone for two doses instead of one. This might be a terrible idea, but Sans could at least approach it logically. Like a scientist or something. Smoke up alone and see how it affected him, then decide if it would be okay to use it for Grillby. Sans wasn’t out to lose control of himself--just to ease things along.

Just to maybe feel like a normal person for once.

He managed to find some old rolling papers and a decrepit lighter under some laundry. Weed was only for the  _ really  _ bad days when Papyrus’s disapproval wasn’t enough to dissuade him. Smoking, no matter the substance, took more effort than Sans generally liked anyway. If he didn’t hold focus it would all just sort of dissipate out of his ribcage and skull, turning him into a cheap smoke machine. Still, he managed to roll the weird brown leaves up without spilling too much into the carpet. Then he cracked his window and settled down on the floor beneath it.

“Alright, libido, let’s see if you still exist,” he muttered and lit up.

Punky hadn’t been lying about the smell, but the taste was worse. It tasted almost exactly like Sans had always imagined the trash water in the Waterfall dump would taste. Muddy, a little acrid, a weird mix of dissolved plastic and burning paper. Sans grimaced but managed to hold the first hit in his ribcage for a few seconds before letting it out. He squinted as his eyesockets started to water.

“Shit.”

Getting through the whole thing was a chore, but whatever the plant was, it burned quickly. It was gone within minutes. Sans swept the last of the ash out through the window screen and closed the window. He draped his arms over his knees and stared at the floor, waiting for it to kick in.

It didn’t take long. Warmth began to spread through his bones. With it came a sleepy, spinny sort of feeling. It made him feel heavy and loose, like he could just flop here on the floor and be content with whatever position he ended up in. His bones tingled pleasantly. So far, though, nothing felt much different down south. On the whole it didn’t even feel that much different from smoking weed.

The heat increased, stopping just short of becoming uncomfortable. Sans shucked off his hoodie and scrubbed at his face. The contact of bone against bone felt brighter, more defined than normal, like he could feel the different particles of magic and matter interacting. Curious, Sans slipped a hand up beneath his shirt, working his fingers between his ribs toward the spots he liked.

It was nice. A more intense kind of nice than usual, but still just sort of…nice. Physically stimulating, like having a really good scrub in the shower or being wrapped in one of those extremely soft blankets. Sans gave a quiet sigh, working his fingers along his ribs. Yeah, this was pleasant. He had the weird thought that this was what being petted felt like. It would feel incredible if Grillby was here now, touching him.

“Grillby…”

Forming sex magic almost always felt exactly like forming bone constructs--just plain magic without any particular meaning attached. It happened naturally the rare times when he was aroused, but the rest of the time it took conscious will, about the same amount of willpower as it did to summon a bone or two. Shaping it took more effort, so Sans usually just went with whatever his body and magic felt like doing at the time.

He was too fuzzy right now to put in much effort, but he could feel it pooling in his pelvis, almost formless. There was more of that warm, tingly feeling, but it was just more of that physical stimulation. No real libido, nothing sexual. But it was a start. This wasn’t necessarily a bust. Sometimes it just took him time to get into it.

“Grillby, please…” Sans hiked his shirt up with one hand, still caressing his ribs. With his other hand he tried to work his shorts down off his hips. He gave up once he got them to his knees, too uncoordinated for anything else. He let his knees spread apart as much as they could with the shorts in the way and blearily studied his magic.

It seemed like his magic had been on the road to forming a pussy but had stopped partway. The glow filled his inlet, shapeless and brighter than normal.

Sans mentally shrugged, deciding he could work with this. He settled back more comfortably against the wall, wincing a little at the feeling of the rough carpet against his tailbone. He kept one hand on his rib cage and let the other settle between his legs. The magic was pliable and hot to the touch, two fingers dipping into it easily.

It felt good. No different than the rest of him.

Sexual attraction was like a switch somewhere inside him, usually off, sometimes on. It was always Grillby--he’d been the only one in years. The flip was random, uncontrollable, based on mood and probably the moon or the movement of tectonic plates or something. Drugs weren’t going to change that. He had known that going in.

The libido was the more fickle thing. It almost never seemed to want to match up, like his mind and body were a cranky old couple who argued about everything. Or like he was a broken clock, or maybe a broken calendar, since twice a day was some goddamn wishful thinking. It never made any sense, how he could  _ want  _ sex but just not  _ feel  _ it, or how he could wake up horny but with no real desire for anyone--for Grillby--to do anything about it. How it could all sometimes just feel like a chore he needed to take care of.

There was just…nothing there. Just superficial heat and tingling. Good, but not the right kind of good.

Sans closed his eyesockets and pushed his fingers in deeper, trying to imagine that it was Grillby. He curled his fingers around his sternum and it was Grillby holding him, Grillby moving above him, inside him. Grillby was the hottest person Sans had ever met, in all senses. He should want him. He should want this. It should be simple.

“Come on,” he whispered, fingers pumping slowly in and out. “Come on, fuck me, please…”

The drug highlighted everything, giving every touch and movement an extra buzz of sensation, his whole body sensitive. He was reacting, at least, the magic between his legs now slick and throbbing. Still not right. Still not good enough. Maybe he just needed to imagine it better. He arched forward, pushing a third finger into his magic, thrusting faster, pretending it was Grillby. 

“Yeah, like that, harder,” Sans said through his teeth. “Grillby, I want it, I want you, please…”

He did want Grillby. He liked Grillby. He was passionate, hard-working, soft-spoken, caring, a thousand things that Sans wasn’t. Maybe in some ideal timeline they could fall in love with each other or something equally cheesy, but here, Sans had almost nothing to offer him. Grillby listened to him and sat through his jokes and let him sleep in his bed, and Sans had  _ nothing  _ of value to give back. Because Sans had no value at all.

He was being too rough now, to the point that even the haze of the drug couldn’t cover the growing discomfort. The slick feeling had gone, leaving his magic hot and irritated, and the fingers inside him were hard and intrusive. He thought bitterly that the universe  _ at least  _ owed him an orgasm for all the trouble. But no. Even drugged to the gills, he still couldn’t fuck right. What good was he?

_ What good are you? _

Sans flinched and withdrew his fingers with a sharp gasp, eyesockets snapping wide. He curled back against the wall, letting go of his ribs. 

Suddenly it was years ago, and he was sitting on the edge of a bed, trying to explain himself, and someone was laughing at him.

_ Freak. _

It was a moment before Sans came back to himself, blinking hard. He took a deep, shaky breath. Some of the tension ran out of him, the drug making it too hard to focus on the memory for long. He drew his knees up to his chest and folded his arms across them. His breathing evened back out.

Sans braced his forehead against his arms with a heavy sigh.

Grillby wasn’t like that. He knew that. Of course he did. Grillby had always been careful and accommodating. He was always gentle. Too much so, sometimes. He never demanded. Never expected anything. He put up with Sans’s bullshit, even when he didn’t have to. And if he thought Sans was a broken freak, he had the decency to keep it to himself. He wasn’t like… 

Grillby would probably be upset if he found out what Sans had done here. Stupid. Stupid idea. Stupid Sans.

He stayed huddled beneath the window, waiting for the drug to fade.


	3. Prompt 3: Guilty (want you to want me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Grillby get feisty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is NSFW
> 
> Chapter Tags: explicit sex, fingering, wall banging, semi-public sex, referenced drug use, praise kink
> 
> Warnings: **internalized acephobia**

Sans was the last one in the bar, and for once, it wasn’t because he was drunk off his ass or avoiding facing Papyrus. Or, alternately, avoiding facing a lack of Papyrus. He was actually in a fairly good mood. Chatting with the other regulars and telling jokes and trading stories felt less like going through the motions than usual. He hadn’t even had that much to drink.

It had been quiet lately, Reset-wise. They were coasting along in one of the better neutral runs. Sans wasn’t about false senses of security, but he also wasn’t about denying himself the chance to relax a bit. Staying alert never stopped the Resets, after all. It was always better to just enjoy the better moments while they lasted.

He had also found himself watching Grillby more than usual over the course of the evening. Chatting with him when he was nearby and watching him when he wasn’t, admiring his movements and the flicker of his flames. There were so many little things about him that Sans liked. The way the color of his flames changed based on his mood, the way he smiled without actually smiling, the dry tone he got when dealing with a problem customer.

There were certain things that Sans couldn’t even admit to himself, not even within his own head. He chalked it up to just being in a good mood.

Grillby was finishing up with some bussing tables and making his way toward Sans. Sans double-checked to make sure they really were alone, then turned to him and grinned.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

There was that little smile, despite Grillby’s lack of expression.

“Hello.”

Sans propped his chin on his hand. “Was thinkin’ I might head upstairs.”

“Hmm.” Grillby eased a little closer. “What are you up for?”

“Dunno yet. Feelin’ pretty good, though. Here’s hoping?”

“No pressure,” Grillby said. 

“Never.”

Grillby closed the distance, pressing Sans back against the counter and kissing him deeply. Sans made a soft sound against his mouth. He reached up to hold Grillby’s upper arms and pull him closer. Grillby gave a little sigh and shifted to kiss at Sans’s neck.

Sans grinned wider, inclining his head and peering out across the empty restaurant.

“Heh, what if we fuck right here in the bar?”

“Funny.”

“Actually,” Sans said, hesitating as heat crept up his face. “What if I was serious?”

Grillby pulled back to look him in the eye with obvious surprise.

_ “Now?” _

Sans chuckled at his reaction. “I meant more in general, but maybe?” The idea sent a little thrill through him. Someone walking in on them would be pretty damn horrifying, but the thought of the two of them being that desperate and into it was incredibly appealing. It was the sort of thing normal people did, right? Stealing moments, fucking wherever they wanted, being able to let the moment sweep them away.

All the needing to wait and plan and hope things worked out really put a damper on things.

Grillby seemed to almost be considering the idea, because Sans could feel his heat increasing. He was clutching at Sans’s hoodie, holding him tighter.

“You could bend me over the counter,” Sans murmured against his neck, enjoying the hitch of breath from Grillby. Sans gave a little shiver. Dirty talk was a lot easier when it was still hypothetical.

“Counter’s too high,” Grillby pointed out, his fingertips starting to push up beneath Sans’s shirt to explore his spine. 

“Over a table, then.”

“Unsanitary.” Grillby kissed hungrily at his jaw. “Are you just saying this, or is it actually something you want?”

That Grillby could want him badly enough to just take him here and now, that he could be rough instead of careful and gentle and  _ constantly  _ focusing on what Sans wanted. That he could think about what he wanted himself, for once, that Sans could  _ give him  _ what he wanted. That Sans could be that desirable, that pleasing.

Oh. Well, there it was. Finally.

“Yeah,” Sans said, pulling him flush against him. “Yeah, I do.”

Grillby slid his hand up Sans’s spine.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he said, pressing a quick kiss between Sans’s eyesockets. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Sans said, resisting the urge to hook his legs around him. “Maybe--maybe lock up first, though.”

Grillby withdrew, slowly, as if he really didn’t want to let go. His flames were flickering and dancing, barely pent up. Holy shit, Grillby was  _ really  _ into this. Holy shit, they were actually going to do this. It wasn’t like this was the kinkiest thing in the world--Sans knew about the internet--but it was pretty damn wild for the two of them. Grillby was always too careful, and Sans was just too switched off.

Sans was practically vibrating, watching as Grillby swept toward the doors to lock them, flames flickering and shifting. He looked around, trying to pick the best spot for this. The bar stool was too precarious, the counter was too high. A table? The  _ floor?  _ He slid off the stool, then shucked off his hoodie and left it draped there, giddy.

Was this what normal felt like? Because it felt pretty damn good.

Sans reached Grillby at the door as Grillby finished locking up. He took hold of Grillby’s free hand.

“Nice when the stars align, huh?”

Grillby reached down to take both of his hands, sliding his grip upwards until he was holding Sans’s wrists.

“You’re really okay with this?”

Sans grinned. “You’re heating up like a volcano about to go off.”

“Perhaps. That doesn’t mean I can’t wait until we’re--”

“No, I like it.” Sans leaned into him a little. “I like when you don’t hold back. I like how much you want--”

_ Me. _

“--to, to shove me against the door and see if we can break the hinges.”

Grillby’s flames had gone pale and his grip on Sans’s wrists had tightened. He was hanging on by a thread.

“If you’re…sure that--”

“God’s sake, just  _ fuck  _ me, Grillb, ‘fore it goes aw--”

Sans sometimes forgot how fast Grillby could move. In a flash, Grillby had spun him around and pushed him hard against the door, hard enough to make it rattle. Sans had a moment to blink in surprise before Grillby pinned his wrists against the wood and leaned in to claim his mouth. Sans melted into it, squeezing his eyesockets shut as Grillby pressed against him, almost hard enough to bruise. All Sans could do was gasp as Grillby kissed him deeper.

Grillby shifted his grip on Sans’s wrists to one hand, the other sliding down Sans’s side, pressing into his ribs as he went and then moving down his spine to his hip. He paused then, Sans trembling as Grillby looked into his eyes, looking for one last sign of consent.

“Come on,” Sans whispered.

Grillby’s fingers moved down, slipping beneath the waistband of Sans’s shorts, working them down off his hips. Sans tilted his head back against the door, body jerking forward as flames trailed down his hip and across the front of his pelvis. The shorts dropped to the floor around his ankles, and Sans remembered to be a little surprised with himself. This was crazy. They were really doing this, and more surprising, he really  _ wanted  _ this.

He felt his magic drop into place between his legs, already wet.

“Ah…” Grillby almost purred at the sight of it, and the desire and admiration in his tone made Sans’s soul flutter.

Grillby’s touch was light at first. He was still being careful, still holding back. Sans jerked forward to try and urge more sensation from the touch, but he was too thoroughly pinned. Grillby’s fingers slid easily against him and Sans couldn’t hold back a moan as heat pressed into his clit.

The sound seemed to be all Grillby needed to stop holding back.

“God, Sans,” he ground out and pushed two fingers into him. Sans’s back arched as Grillby pushed deeper, fingers curling to find his sweet spot.

“Haah, fuck.” Sans’s knees shook as he tried to arch higher. “That’s good.”

Grillby thrust his fingers in deep, in and out, working his thumb against Sans’s clit until Sans was a shivering, panting mess. Heat had started to gather beneath Sans’s soul and he tried to push it back, hold it off. He always got off too quickly, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have a second one in him tonight. He had to try and make this last.

Grillby looked incredible above him, flames a bright yellow-white and starting to lose definition, face intent. He was watching Sans’s face while he fingered him, which made Sans feel both self-conscious and incredibly turned on.

Sans twisted his wrists in Grillby’s hold, wanting to touch him. Grillby didn’t let go.

“G-Grillb…” Sans tried to keep at least his voice composed, but it broke into a mewl partway through. “I want it, come on…”

“You want more?” The growl sent heat shivering through Sans’s marrow. “How greedy.”

“Th-Think I’m entitled once in awhile,” Sans said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t wanna come till you’re inside me.”

That must have been a good thing to say, because Grillby made another of those growls, like a distant inferno. He withdrew his fingers with one last glide against Sans’s clit to make him tremble, then released Sans’s wrists. With a grunt, Grillby took hold of Sans and lifted him up, pushing him against the door again and bracing him there with his body. Sans threw his arms around Grillby’s neck, tangling his fingers in the flames.

“Ah, shit.” Sans gave a breathless laugh as Grillby fumbled with the front of his pants. “Y-You know, if we do actually break somethin’, you can put it on my tab.”

Grillby mouthed at his neck, breathing tiny flames between Sans’s vertebrae. Sans inhaled sharply as he felt something familiar and hot press up against him. Grillby ran his whole length along Sans’s pussy, coating himself in slick. Sans hooked his legs around Grillby’s waist.

“Oh, fuck.” Sans’s voice broke as Grillby entered him with one quick thrust. “Oh  _ fuck,  _ oh fuck,  _ Grillby--” _

Grillby set a much faster pace than usual, and Sans couldn’t possibly keep up. All he could do was moan and cry out as Grillby nailed him to the door, clawing at Grillby’s back and shoulders. The flames were roaring and losing shape, some of them stopping just shy of burning. Sometimes he forgot just  _ how much  _ Grillby held back with him, that even when Grillby seemed to have gone wild, he was still retaining control. Enough control to not do any real harm.

“You feel so good, Sans,” Grillby said, and Sans’s breath hitched. “You’re so good.”

“That’s-- _ a-ah!-- _ th-that’s cheating…”

Grillby buried his face against Sans’s neck, thrusting deeper, angling higher to hit all of Sans’s sweet spots. Sans had no idea this position could feel so good. He was pretty sure he was seeing stars, or maybe Grillby was just sparkling. He held on tighter, digging his fingers into the flames until Grillby made a throaty sound.

“Yes, like that. So good for me.”

Sans felt his soul almost humming in response. He gritted his teeth to try and keep from making any sound. Grillby noticed and shifted up to kiss him hard, swallowing Sans’s whine. Sans started to slip down the door and Grillby shifted his grip to lift him back up. Sans rocked back against it, vertebrae grinding against the wood. It was almost painful, but any discomfort was quickly banished by how good the rest of him felt.

Grillby suddenly thrust deeper and Sans let out a warbling little cry. Without thinking, he leaned forward and bit down on Grillby’s shoulder to try and stifle himself. Grillby gave a startled moan and Sans let go.

“S-Sorry, sorry--”

“No,” Grillby said, voice husky, and he gave another of those deep, intense thrusts. “Do it again.”

“Haa-- _ nnff!”  _

Sans obeyed as the movement dragged another wrecked sound from him, trying not to bite as hard. As an afterthought, he ran his tongue over the marks, tasting more heat and the faintest touch of charcoal.

“S-Sans…”

Sans had  _ never _ heard Grillby say his name like that.

“You’re doing so well,” Grillby gasped and Sans let out a whine of half-hearted protest. He shifted his position, then leaned in again to bite at Grillby’s other shoulder, just as Grillby hilted himself inside.

Heat ran through Sans’s whole form and he felt his soul pulse. He tried to crush it back down, hold it back, wanting to last until Grillby had finished. It was so hard, and he had so little practice with such things. His legs shook as he tightened them around Grillby’s waist and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

He pressed his forehead against Grillby’s shoulder.

“Grillby, I can’t, I’m, I’m gonna come…”

“Come for me. Let me hear it.”

Sans resisted the urge to bite down and Grillby hilted himself again. Sans cried out, pleasure rushing through him, magic sparking from his bones and between his joints. It rolled on like a wave, faster than Sans would have liked, there and then gone. Immediately Sans went limp in Grillby’s hold, his legs shaking harder now with the effort of holding them in place.

Grillby slowed down a fraction, kissing Sans at the corner of his mouth and making an inquisitive sound. Sans’s eyesockets slid shut and he focused on catching his breath, head lolling on Grillby’s shoulder.

“‘M okay…’m okay, keep goin’”

“Almost there.”

It only took a few more thrusts, then Grillby made a low, throaty growl. His hips snapped forward and Sans whimpered as liquid heat filled him. Grillby stayed there, buried in Sans, trembling and breathing fast as he slowly came back down.

Sans smiled dazedly and nuzzled against Grillby’s neck. It took him several long moments to find the energy to speak.

“Whaddaya know,” he said between breaths. “Didn’ break the door.”

Grillby just gave a vague grunt.

“That was good.” Sans pressed a tiny kiss to the spot where Grillby’s neck met his shoulder. “Really good. Really…lit my fire.”

“You’re okay?”

Sans sighed in sleepy contentment. “Yeah.”

They were both quiet for a moment, holding each other.

“Spending the night?”

“Yeah.” Sans forced himself to open his eyesockets, pulling back enough to look at Grillby’s face. He grinned again.

“If that’s okay. Don’t think I have another of those in me.”

“That’s alright,” Grillby said, kissing him quickly. “You were wonderful.”

Sans’s soul gave another of those ridiculous flutters and he didn’t answer.

“I’m gonna set you down.”

Sans nodded. Grillby slowly pulled out, Sans making a soft sound of overstimulation. He unhooked his legs and let them drop as Grillby lowered him to the floor. Sans immediately decided that standing after all that was pointless and slid the rest of the way until he was sitting on the floor.

“Sans?”

“I’m alright,” Sans said, grinning up at him. “Just gonna sit here for a sec. Darken your doorway.”

Grillby hesitated as he pulled his pants back up, watching Sans with a look of faint concern.

“I might have overdone it…”

“I like when you overdo it,” Sans said, beaming. “Oh, do me a favor? Should text Paps. Let ‘im know I’m stayin’. Phone’s in my hoodie.”

He pointed across the bar. Grillby sighed a little, apparently deciding that he hadn’t broken Sans or anything. Then he turned and went to retrieve Sans’s phone. Sans watched him, still grinning stupidly, taking stock of all the little aches and bumps and the heat that was starting to spill out of him. His back would probably be bruised tomorrow. It all felt like proof. Proof that he could do things like this, that he could be wanted. That Grillby could want him.

A real relationship would never work. This? This worked.

Grillby was fumbling in the pockets of Sans’s hoodie, coming out with ketchup packets, random coins and wadded up trash as he searched.

“You should really clean your hoodie more often,” he said mildly as he finally extricated the phone, along with a handful of debris.

Sans chuckled and rubbed at a sore spot on one vertebra. “And lose my reputation as a walking trash heap? Nah.”

Grillby started to walk back toward him, but then stopped, looking down at whatever he was holding.

“What is this?”

“What’s what?”

Grillby held up what looked to be a tiny plastic bag. Sans squinted.

“Can’t see it from here. Weed? Probably have some kicking around somewhere.”

“It’s the wrong color.”

“Trash, then.” Sans held his hand out. “Can I get my phone?”

Grillby still wasn’t moving, staring more closely at whatever was in the bag, Sans’s phone in his other hand. Sans blinked, slowly remembering what the baggie probably was. Right. The nasty, feet-smelling stuff he’d tried the other day.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“Grillb?” Sans pushed himself to his feet, wincing, legs shaking. “Hey.”

“I know what this is,” Grillby said quietly.

“Listen--wait, seriously?” Grillby was so straight-laced, and Sans had been under the impression that the drug was fairly uncommon. Sans started to move toward him, then remembered his shorts. He cursed inwardly and grabbed them off the floor, then fumbled his way back into them.

Grillby finally looked up from the baggie and stared across the restaurant at Sans.

“This is why you followed Punky out the other night.”

“I--okay, yeah,” Sans said, finally getting his shorts on the right legs. “But--”

“Did you take this?”

“No, I--” Sans had started to take a step toward Grillby and froze, eyesockets going wide. “Holy shit, no.”

“This is why you were…” Grillby pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. “Tonight, I thought you were acting strange. This is why.”

Sans crossed the room to him, soul going cold. “No, Grillb, I wasn’t. I didn’t. Listen, please, I can explain.”

“You drugged yourself.” Grillby was staring at Sans like he hadn’t truly seen him until this very moment. “You drugged yourself to have sex with me.”

“No, no, please, I didn’t, I only--I only wanted to try it, and it didn’t even  _ work.”  _ Sans tried to reach for him but Grillby stepped back. “Grillby, listen, I smoked it  _ days _ ago and it didn’t do anything. It didn’t even do anything. Tonight, this--this was real. I wanted it, Grillb, I swear.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Sans spread his hands. “Because--because we’ve done this before, this is just, this is just how it works sometimes. Come on, you know that, you know sometimes I’m just--I’m almost normal.”

Grillby’s flames were starting to rise. “How do I know you haven’t just been using this whole time? How do I know you haven’t been forcing yourself this whole time?”

“Because I wouldn’t--” Sans cut himself off, eyelights shrinking to pinpricks. “I…wouldn’t…”

“Obviously you would.” Somehow, Grillby’s voice was staying calm, despite the look on his face, despite the way his flames were flaring and crackling. “Obviously you  _ would.  _ Even if you’re telling the truth and you smoked it a few days ago, that means you were  _ testing  _ it. You were  _ going _ to use it. You were going to…”

All at once, Grillby’s flames shank back down. All of him seemed to shrink, sagging in on himself as his glow cooled to a darker orange, then a faint red.

Sans stared up at him, unable to breathe.

“God, Sans,” he said, and even his voice had lowered to a pained whisper. “That’s fucked up. Don’t you see how fucked up that is?”

“I…didn’t use it with you, though.” Sans couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so small. “I didn’t. I just wanted to see if it worked.”

“But you were  _ going _ to.”

Sans hissed through his teeth, gripping his arm as he tried to find an explanation.

“Because I just--I hate not being able to--I get you riled up and then I can’t even  _ do _ anything about it, and…I thought maybe--I dunno, if I could at least find a way to, to get myself going or something, then I could at least…”

Sans let go and buried his face in his hand for a moment, dragging them down his face. He couldn’t look at Grillby anymore. Couldn’t look at the shock and horror on his face.

“I wanted to make you happy,” he finished, staring at the floor.

There was a long silence.

“I pressured you,” Grillby said. Sans’s head snapped up to stare at him again.

“Wh-What? No. No, you didn’t, never.”

“How else am I supposed to interpret this?” Grillby’s flames cooled another shade. “I was trying so hard not to. I was trying to be careful.”

“You didn’t. Grillb, you didn’t.” Sans took another step toward him, but Grillby withdrew again. “C-Come on, Grillby, you can’t--this was me, and you’re right that it was fucked up, and I never shoulda done it. I made a mistake. It was just a stupid mistake. And I won’t ever do it again. And--I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Grillby. This was all me. I just--wanted to feel normal. I’m sorry.”

For a long time, Grillby didn’t answer. His arms hung limp at his sides. Sans watched him, hugging himself, soul coming apart.

Eventually, Grillby reached out and set Sans’s phone down on a table. He looked at the small bag in his hand one more time, then made a fist around it. There was a hiss as his hand brightened, then a faint smell of burning plastic and a small curl of smoke. When he opened his hand, it was gone.

“I think you should leave,” Grillby said, his voice back to its usual calm tone, even though his flames were still darkened.

Sans opened his mouth to apologize again, to say anything at all, but stopped. He felt his eyelights gutter out.

No point. There was no point in trying to fix this. Grillby was right. He had fucked up. He  _ was _ fucked up.

Grillby had already turned away. Moving as if in a trance, Sans grabbed his phone off the table. He skirted past Grillby and picked up his hoodie. Grillby braced his hands against a table and leaned down, not looking at Sans.

Sans teleported without another word.


	4. Prompt 4: Home (Autocorrect)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans avoids his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sad Papyrus, drunk texting

Sans didn’t show up for breakfast that morning. Grillby had expected as much, and it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Sometimes Sans had breakfast with his brother, so long as Papyrus wasn’t the one cooking. It wasn’t until Sans also didn’t show up for lunch that Grillby realized Sans was avoiding him.

He had expected that as well.

He had slept poorly last night, in fits and starts, snapping awake to blearily wonder where Sans was and then feel as if he’d been doused when he remembered. The day was slogging by, with Grillby barely paying attention to his surroundings. He kept going over it all in his head and coming up with no answers. It was a good thing that Sans wasn’t here, because there was no way Grillby was going to be able to act normally around him.

He’d told himself a long time ago that he would be careful. Getting Sans to talk about himself was like pulling teeth, and it had taken months of the two of them dancing around the idea of a relationship for Sans to even admit that he was asexual. Even then, before they’d gotten involved, Grillby had promised himself that he would be careful. He never pushed, never pressed. Being a fire elemental, he’d had plenty of practice with holding himself back, even when his desires tried to run wild.

He’d failed. Somehow he’d failed. And he wasn’t even sure how much of it was his own fault, and how much was just Sans being Sans, Sans insisting on making things a thousand times more complicated than they needed to be. Still, he’d  _ known  _ that going in. He’d known for years that Sans had…issues. He’d known that Sans was uncommunicative, that he resisted anything that made him feel even remotely vulnerable, that there was more going on in his head and soul than he ever let on. He’d known, and he’d still decided to try for something. So far Grillby had dealt with it all with his usual patience and calm and caution.

He didn’t think that was going to be enough this time.

The day passed in a haze. Grillby found himself spacing out in the middle of things, mixing up orders, overcooking food. As evening came around he started flinching every time he heard the door open. He knew Sans too well. He was going to walk in at some point, joking and laughing like usual and pretending that nothing at all was wrong. And Grillby would have no choice but to pretend along with him. It wasn’t like he could just make a scene in the restaurant. They’d have to wait until after closing time, and of course even then Sans probably wouldn’t talk, not for real. He never did.

The evening wore on. Sans didn’t show up at his usual time.

“It’s weird,” Redbird said at one point. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“I hope he’s alright,” Fisher said.

“Grillby’s starting to get nervous.”

Grillby didn’t dignify them with an answer or even a reaction. This had been the other option. Either Sans would show up acting like nothing was wrong, or he’d avoid everything entirely.

He was so damn predictable.

It was starting to get late when the door swung open and Papyrus, of all people, walked in. He paused in the doorway, looking around, checking Sans’s usual spot at the bar. Then he gave an obvious sigh and started walking toward Grillby, saying a few hellos to people along the way.

Grillby was wiping up a spill at a table when Papyrus walked up.

“Hello, Papyrus,” he said mildly. “Sans isn’t here.”

“I can see that!” Papyrus said with false cheer, looking toward Sans’s empty stool again. “But I thought I would check! Have you--seen him at all today?”

Grillby stood upright, frowning.

“No. Why?”

Papyrus was fidgeting with his gloves. “He seemed very upset when he came home last night. But he--left only a few hours after. He said--”

Papyrus hesitated and gave Grillby a very pointed look.

“He said he was coming back here.”

Grillby stifled a sigh and nodded toward the other corner of the bar. He headed back behind the bar, moving casually, then went toward the opposite end, away from any of the remaining patrons. Papyrus followed.

“He didn’t come back here.”

Papyrus lowered his voice, which was impressive for someone like him. “Did something happen? Did the two of you have a fight?”

There was no way that Sans had told Papyrus about their relationship. He must have figured it out on his own. Maybe Papyrus wasn’t as oblivious as Grillby had assumed.

“In a sense,” he said, his voice perfectly calm.

“He hasn’t come home.” Papyrus was still worrying at his gloves, face still an expression of false cheer. “He’s been gone all day. Of course, I am not too worried! He is Sans after all! He does this sometimes! He even replied to one of my texts earlier! But! I have not heard from him since then, and he did not say where he was, or when he would be home! So I thought I would check here! And ask if maybe you had heard from him?”

This was worse than Grillby had thought, but still not unexpected. It was just like Sans to run from his problems and to make his brother worry. Papyrus  _ never  _ came by the bar, except for when he was looking for Sans.

Grillby folded his arms, studying an interesting stain on the surface of the bar counter.

“I haven’t seen him all day,” he said after a moment. “And I haven’t heard from him. We had a--disagreement last night, and I sent him home.”

Papyrus stared at Grillby for several long seconds in total silence, more intently than Grillby was used to from him. Eventually Papyrus blinked and sighed quietly, apparently finding whatever he’d been looking for.

“Well,” he said, as nonchalantly as someone like Papyrus could muster, “I’m sure he’s just fine and alive and probably doing ridiculous Sans things! But! If you see him or hear from him, will you let me know?”

Grillby nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you Grillby!” Papyrus smiled. “Then I will get out of your grease trap--I mean, your restaurant! Goodbye!”

He turned on his heel and left. Grillby waited until the door had clicked shut to turn and walk back into the kitchen. Once he was out of sight of the restaurant patrons, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

This was absurd. He shouldn’t have to be the one reaching out, not after last night. Still, he scrolled to Sans’s name and opened the text field.

_ Your brother came by the bar. He’s worried. _

Grillby waited. A minute went by with no response. Hissing quietly, he sent another text.

_ You should go home. _

Another minute. No response. Grillby shut off the grill and started cleaning it. No response. He took the last drink orders of the night and closed out a few tabs. No response. He started cleaning tables as patrons began to trickle out for the night. No response. He watched Dizzy’s sister pull her to her feet and steer her out the door, then locked up behind them. Still no response.

It wasn’t until Grillby had climbed into bed that his phone buzzed.

_ event alley _

Grillby stared at the response in momentary confusion. Autocorrect. Sans had never really bothered to figure out how his phone worked.

_ When is eventually? Papyrus is really worried. _

Sans didn’t answer right away. Grillby found himself scrolling back through previous conversations while he waited. Stupid jokes from Sans, fake flirting that was indistinguishable from real flirting, one long text wall of Sans telling him about being at his sentry station in Waterfall and watching a mouse climb up the stalk of a water sausage and chew into the pod until only its tail was sticking out. Strange, unsettling comments or questions when Sans had to be drunk and melancholy, wondering about things that had never happened.

Grillby’s phone buzzed.

_ yosuver thing absorb the Endo f the world? _

Grillby glared at the phone in exasperation.

_ I have no idea what you’re saying. How drunk are you? _

The response was pretty quick this time.

_ I thing about t lot _

Grillby rubbed at his face. Sometimes he really did wonder why he was so attracted to this impossible skeleton.

_ I get that you’re upset but it’s not fair to make your brother worry. You need to go home. And maybe turn off autocorrect. _

Grillby wished so badly that they could just have a normal conversation. He’d needed some time, but now he thought he could handle it. If Sans was just here, and sober, and actually willing to  _ talk  _ for once, then…they could figure this out. He wanted Sans to explain himself, and to tell him what Grillby had done wrong, how he had pressured Sans so that he could be sure to never do it again. He wanted to just be able to forgive him and move on. Go back to how things were. If it was even possible.

_ ifthe would ends to naught the you’ll forge hat idid and you lll Ike Megan _

Grillby had no idea what Sans was trying to say. He covered his face with a hand. Stay calm. Just stay calm.

_ I’m not doing this. Go home. We’ll talk later. _

It was a long time before Sans answered, long enough that Grillby had set his phone on the nightstand and started to drift off. The phone buzz pulled him back out of near-sleep.

_ ill over yup _

Grillby shut off his phone.


	5. Prompt 5: Game (Blackout)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans almost makes a terrible decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: panic attack, internalized acephobia, self-hate, alcohol abuse

Sans woke to someone tapping on his shoulder.

“Hey. You need to go home, man, I’m closing up.”

Sans sat upright, working out the pins and needles in his arms from where they’d fallen asleep, crushed between his head and the bar counter. He was dizzy. Hadn’t slept long enough, it seemed. The bartender was a bipedal griffin of some kind, and was standing over him, watching Sans with a mix of concern and exasperation.

Sans couldn’t remember which bar this was or how he had gotten here.

“Right, yeah.” Sans slid off the stool--much too tall for him, nothing like the ones at Grillby’s--and wobbled in place for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

“You need me to call someone?” the griffin asked.

Sans started to answer, but then someone else dropped a hand onto his shoulder. A lithe gecko monster that Sans didn’t recognize sidled up next to Sans, smiling.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

Sans looked blearily up at him, trying to remember who he was. It was hard to think through the pounding in his skull. He seemed familiar, but Sans couldn’t place his name.

The bartender stood back with a shrug.

“Fine. Just don’t let him fall in a ditch.”

The gecko chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Night.”

He started to lead Sans out the door, arm around Sans’s shoulders to keep him from staggering. Sans followed despite his growing confusion.

“Where we goin’?” he mumbled as they stepped out into cool night air and empty streets. This looked like New Home, but Sans wasn’t sure where exactly. The gecko’s hand trailed slowly down Sans’s shoulder over his back, then curled around his waist.

“Back to my place, remember?” the gecko said cheerfully. “If you’re still up for it, that is. You seem pretty out of it.”

“Oh.” Oh, that wasn’t good. Sans started dragging his feet a little more. “Uh. Nah, I think. I think there’s--been a mizunder--misunderstanding.”

The gecko monster slowed, frowning down at Sans. “What misunderstanding? You were flirting with me all night.”

“Uh--uh--”

It was starting to come back to him, hazy and slow. He’d gone to find some dive bar where no one knew him, where no one knew when to cut him off, so he could chat and flirt and drown himself for a little while and not think and pretend he was something close to normal. He’d lost count after four. Grillby always cut him off at five.

“I’m.” It was hard to speak, or to form coherent thoughts at all. “I’m really drunk.”

The gecko stopped walking and peered down at Sans, letting go of his waist and gripping his shoulder again.

“You seriously don’t remember, do you.”

“Remember--remember what?” Oh god. Oh god, how long had he been out here? He’d left early in the morning, before Papyrus had woken up. What time was it? Who was this monster? Had they--? 

Even drunk, he wouldn’t go that far, would he?

“You’ve been flirting with me for hours,” the gecko monster said, frowning and starting to look irritated. “I asked if you wanted to come back to my place and you said yes. You said something about ‘why not, normal people do it’ or something. You kept talking about some guy? I got the sense you were trying to make someone jealous, not that I really care.”

“I’m, heh.” Sans rubbed his face with both hands, trying to calm down and clear his head. “No, I don’t want him to be--ah, shit. I’m--I’m sorry, I’m--I’m shitfaced. I don’t know what I--I think I lead you on. I changed my mind. I don’t want to--I don’t do this stuff. I don’t want to.”

Sans tried to step back from the gecko and dislodge his hold. The gecko let go, but now he was glaring at Sans.

“You played me,” he snapped. “I actually thought you were into me. You weren’t even that drunk when you started, you little fucking tease. Do you just play games with everyone?”

“Everything’s a game,” Sans said, taking another step back from the gecko monster. He was seconds away from bursting into hysterical laughter. “I’m sorry. I’m--”

“You’re fucked up is what you are,” the monster snapped.

“Hhh, heh. Yeah.” Sans took another step back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” the gecko said, shaking his head. “I’m out of here. Good luck with your life.”

He turned and stalked away. Sans stayed perfectly still until the gecko had rounded a corner out of sight. Then he braced himself against the nearest wall and ducked low, hyperventilating, crushing a hand over his mouth. His soul was threatening to burst inside his ribcage.

He’d almost--he’d really almost--

How could he be such a mess? He’d left to try and clear his head, and yet he’d almost made everything a thousand times worse. What had he been  _ thinking? _ What would have happened if he’d actually gone through with it and woken up in some stranger’s bed? Surely no monster would ever do such a thing with someone who was blackout drunk, but what if he  _ had?  _ Nausea churned in his soul, making him wish he was physically capable of throwing up.

He was vile, disgusting. Some kind of masochist.  _ Little tease.  _ The gecko wasn’t the first one to call him that.  _ Little tease. Freak. _

Sans crouched into a ball on the sidewalk, shaking, dizzy, trying to come back down.

It took awhile. It must have been very late, because no one else was on the street. No one walked by to wonder about the stupid little skeleton having some stupid little breakdown.

Eventually Sans managed to push himself back up to his feet, head swimming. He had to go home. Papyrus was probably worried sick. It was dangerous to teleport while he was this drunk, but so long as he could figure out where he was, it was worth the risk. He looked around, staggering to the nearest street corner to check the signs. He sort of recognized the street names. It was close enough.

He teleported, landing on the front steps and nearly tumbling back down into the snow. Instead he lurched himself forward and almost collapsed against the door. His head spun. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyesockets shut, trying not to pass out.

Once he was sure he wasn’t going to fall over, he opened the door.

There was a single light on in the living room, casting dim light over Papyrus, seated on the couch. He was playing a game of solitaire on the coffee table. His head jerked up when he heard the door.

“Sans.”

Sans tried to grin.

“Hey, bro.”

Papyrus got to his feet and crossed the room to him.

“I’m okay. Sorry for--”

Papyrus wrapped him in a hug without a word. Sans went stiff for just a moment. Then he sagged against his brother, hugging him back, trembling. He buried his face against Papyrus’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Papyrus said, rubbing his back. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Sans balled his hands in Papyrus’s shirt.

“I fucked up,” he said, voice low and thick. “I fucked everything up. ‘M so  _ stupid.” _

“You are not stupid, brother,” Papyrus assured him. “You are just very silly and a little thoughtless sometimes.”

Sans’s head was starting to hurt from the effort of holding back tears. “He’s never gonna forgive me.”

“I do not believe that. Grillby might have terrible taste in food, but he is a kind and patient monster. Tomorrow you can talk to him and work it all out. I am sure of it.”

Sans crushed his face against Papyrus’s chest, giving up on breathing. He shook in Papyrus’s hold, trying to focus on the feeling of Papyrus rubbing his back. It was steadying. Calming. He was safe.

He waited until he had stopped shaking and was sure he wasn’t about to burst into tears to speak again.

“‘M sorry,” he murmured. “Made you worry.”

Papyrus patted his head and pulled back a little, seemingly content that his brother wasn’t about to go to pieces. 

“I forgive you. Would you like to play a round of Go Fish before bed?”

“Hhh. Think I just wanna sleep.” Sans blinked slowly, realizing how tired and dizzy he still was.

“Alright. If you leave your clothes, I’ll wash them for you. You smell terrible!”

Sans gave a fragile smile.

“You’re the best, Paps.”

Papyrus nodded sagely. “I know I am. Now, let me help you up the stairs. If you dusted from falling down the stairs while drunk, I would never let you hear the end of it! And I am certain you don’t want that.”

Sans managed to laugh.


	6. Prompt 6: Obligation (Talk It Out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus makes Sans promise to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **internalized acephobia, implied past sexual coercion**

Sans felt as if Greater Dog had sat on him. His head was pounding like there was an entire drumline in his skull, and it got worse every time he shifted his head even slightly. Every time he took a step he felt throbbing pain shoot straight from his feet all the way into his skull. He felt emptied out, drained, and there was a crick in his neck that just wouldn’t go away.

Quite frankly, he was lucky to be alive. It was ridiculously irresponsible and dangerous to get blackout drunk when something like tripping in the street or bonking his head would be enough to kill him. There was a reason Grillby was so adamant about cutting him off. The same reason why Papyrus was always on his case about it, whether Sans was drinking at Grillby’s or at home.

He’d expected Papyrus to ream him as soon as he woke up, but Papyrus didn’t say a word. Not until Sans brought it up himself.

“I just get the sense that you’ve learned your lesson,” Papyrus said, with a weird mix of brotherly understanding and smugness. “And that you are aware that you only get ONE free pass from me. And that if you ever do anything like this again, I reserve the right to yell at you, no matter how much your head is hurting.”

“Yeah, fair. Okay.”

“And as a sign of good faith, you can owe me a favor.”

“Uh, okay.”

“And that favor is that you go talk to Grillby!”

Here Sans had thought that things couldn’t get any worse. His skull pounded harder.

“Grillby? Uh. I mean, I dunno why I’d talk to…he’s a friend and all, but--”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Sans,” Papyrus said with a too-bright smile. “Just do me this one favor, alright?”

“Uh--”

“Good. I am proud of you, brother.”

Sans spent most of the morning on the couch with all the lights off and his face pressed into a pillow, feeling sorry for himself. He wondered if he could get away with just texting an apology to Grillby and have that count as “talking.” The idea of staring at a bright screen and trying to manage a tiny keyboard was incredibly unappealing. Sans couldn’t call him while he was at work. E-mail was much too much effort. He had only two choices--avoid Grillby and the restaurant for the rest of this timeline, or go there and talk to him in person.

Assuming the Reset didn’t happen before then. Assuming Grillby didn’t kick him out the moment he stepped inside. Assuming Grillby wanted to talk to him at all, or ever again.

Sans managed to put it off until evening, when hunger finally got the best of him. He hadn’t been able to eat much all day, and now he was starving, and the only things in the house were leftover spaghetti and chips. Dragging himself up off the couch and out the door and down the street to his favorite restaurant had never seemed so difficult.

He paused at the front door, trembling a little, mostly from weakness. The hangover had left him wrung out and exhausted, no matter how much he’d slept. His soul felt chilly. What was he going to do with himself if Grillby wouldn’t even speak to him? He’d deserve it, of course. That part wasn’t a question. If he actually cared about Grillby, he’d just walk away and let him find someone better, someone who would make him happy.

He was such a selfish bastard. And he was hungry. So he opened the door.

He couldn’t have made a quiet entrance even if he’d wanted to. All the regulars immediately looked up and said their usual rounds of hellos the moment he walked in. Sans gave all his usual responses, smiling and joking like always. He already looked terrible--if he also  _ acted  _ miserable, they’d all start asking questions and Sans would lose his nerve.

He saw Grillby spot him as he approached the bar. Grillby, as usual, gave very little away. There was an extra little curl of flames from around his neck and shoulders, but other than that, nothing. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting Sans to show up. Which would have made sense. Grillby knew full well what a coward he was.

Sans tried to steel himself as he reached the bar and climbed onto his usual stool. He didn’t try to call Grillby over like he normally would. He just folded his hands on the counter and waited for Grillby to finish up with whoever’s order he was filling. If he was really going to do this, he had to try and do it right. He got the sense that acting like everything was fine wouldn’t go over well.

Hard habit to break.

Grillby made his way toward Sans and Sans took a deep breath. Grillby moved slower than normal, like he was as apprehensive as Sans was feeling.

“Hello,” Grillby said.

Sans let the breath out slowly. “Hey.” He looked up to make very brief eye contact before looking away. Baby steps. “Uh. Just my usual burger. Please.”

Grillby studied him for a moment before nodding. “Nothing to drink?”

“Nah, uh. Heh.” Sans rubbed the back of his neck. That crick hadn’t gone away. “Still coming down after last night, so.”

“Hmm.” It was the usual sound that Grillby made when he wanted to ask more but wasn’t going to. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah. Feel it, too.” He gave a faint, rueful smile. “Deserve it, though.”

“I’ll get your burger going,” Grillby said, and wandered off.

There. An entire conversation, and Sans hadn’t spontaneously combusted. And Grillby hadn’t kicked him out, at least not yet. It might just be that Grillby didn’t want to make a scene. He slumped a little against the bar, some of the tension running out of him. Of course, the other shoe was going to drop eventually, but for now, he felt a tiny bit better. It was important to hold onto things that almost certainly wouldn’t last. 

Grillby returned sooner than Sans expected, setting a glass of fizzy, clear liquid in front of him. Sans blinked at it.

“What is this?”

“Tonic water.”

“Oh.” Sans wrapped his hand around the glass, inspecting it. “I thought you don’t do H2O.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Grillby said mildly. “People want gin and tonics.”

Sans just made a thoughtful sound and took a sip. The bubbles fizzed against his hard palate.

“That’s. Nice of you.”

“It’ll help,” Grillby said in the same tone, and he walked off again. Sans wondered if this was some kind of pity. He had avoided looking in the mirror today, so he had no idea how bad he looked. It had to be pretty terrible. Better to interpret this as Grillby looking after a hungover regular than Grillby going out of his way to be nice. Grillby had always been careful to treat Sans in public like nothing more than an acquaintance.

He certainly was paying Sans even less attention than usual. He only returned once with Sans’s burger. Any other time, Sans would have made some excuse to touch him, but for now he kept his hands to himself. He felt his soul do a little leap as he realized this was probably his one chance to say something.

“Hey, uh, Grillby?”

Grillby paused, looking back at him. Sans’s nerves got the better of him and he looked down, lacing his fingers together again.

“Well?” Grillby said, expectant.

“Are--” Sans shook his head and tried again. “Can we talk later?”

Grillby regarded him in silence for several agonizingly long moments. He seemed just the slightest bit surprised.

He nodded.

“Later,” he agreed, and left.

Sans started breathing again. Grillby wasn’t going to kick him out. That was better than he could have hoped for.

Of course now this meant that he would actually have to  _ talk. _

He was in a somewhat better mood after that, managing to strike up conversations with the other regulars. He made Redbird and Fisher laugh with a joke about geckos. After a long day of being nothing but miserable, Sans started feeling a bit more like himself. True to his word, Grillby didn’t speak to him again all evening, not even to close out his tab. That was fine. Sans needed the time to collect his thoughts, and maybe Grillby did as well.

It was weird to be lingering at the bar so late when he wasn’t actually drinking. It was doubly weird to be the only one of the regulars who stayed sober. Seeing it all from the outside sort of put things into perspective, though Sans wasn’t sure what the perspective actually was. It had to be something closer to what Grillby felt, having to wrangle a lot of drunk idiots every night.

One by one, though, the regulars began to trickle out. Sans took his time picking at his cold fries, waiting. He’d always been good at being patient. He tried to rehearse what he was going to say, but everything sounded stupid or trite or nonsensical in his head. It was almost funny, since speechifying always seemed to come so easy to him. He always knew what to say. Except for when it really mattered.

Eventually it was just Sans left in the bar, and Dizzy asleep in her usual booth. Sans was sitting with his chin propped in his hand, eyesockets closed--not really asleep, but just sort of letting himself drift. But then he felt warmth draw close to him, like someone had lit a campfire.

He had to stifle a smile. That was so cheesy, that he could sense Grillby before he saw him. He opened his eyesockets and there he was, standing in front of him with his arms folded.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Grillby said.

“Nah. Just kinda--zoning out.”

“It’s later.” Grillby’s tone was firm, almost cold. Sans had opened the door and Grillby absolutely wasn’t going to let him try to get out of this.

“Yeah,” Sans said, ignoring the shiver that ran through him. “Can we--sit somewhere? Uh, I just. Feel weird with you standing and me sitting like this.”

Grillby’s expression narrowed, like he was trying to figure out if Sans was just stalling. Then he nodded toward one of the empty booths, opposite the room from where Dizzy was asleep.

“Yeah, that works.”

Sans slid off the stool and headed to the booth. Grillby lingered long enough to pour himself a drink, then he slid into the seat across from Sans. Sans tried to make himself comfortable to no avail. Nothing about this was going to be comfortable.

All that time and he still didn’t know what to say. Though to be fair, there was only one real place to start. He folded his hands on the table and stared at them so he wouldn’t have to look at Grillby’s face.

“So, I--I owe you an--I owe you  _ several  _ apologies,” Sans began haltingly. “I’m sorry for…what happened the other night. And I’m sorry for disappearing yesterday.”

“I expected it,” Grillby said dryly, and Sans winced. Yeah, he deserved that, a long with all the rest of it.

“Fair.”

“Just how much did you drink?”

“I don’t--heh, I don’t remember. I kinda blacked out.”

Grillby was visibly frowning now. He folded his arms again and leaned back in the booth seat.

“That was stupid.”

“I know.”

Grillby gave a quiet huff. “I suppose that means you don’t remember texting me.”

Sans buried his face in both hands and groaned. He hadn’t checked his text history at all today.

“Oh god. What did I say?”

“It was mostly incomprehensible,” Grillby said with an exasperated sigh. “You should figure out how to turn off autocorrect.” 

“I’m sorry. I was--if I said anything weird, I probably didn’t mean it.”

Grillby gave him a strange look and Sans tried not to wonder about what it might mean. There was a pause. Sans picked at a spot on the edge of the table. Grillby sipped his drink.

“Getting drunk and texting me isn’t really what I’m upset about, Sans.”

“I know. I’m…” Sans pulled his hands away from his face and folded his arms on the table again. “This is just…hard.”

“Apologizing?”

“Talking.” Sans wished he had something to do with his hands, even if it was just holding something. He tugged at the hems of his sleeves instead.

“You can start by explaining why you did it,” Grillby said, tone flat. “Why you thought it was okay to essentially  _ force  _ yourself.”

“I wasn’t. I really didn’t smoke it that night, Grillb.” Sans finally looked up at his face, desperate for Grillby to believe him. “I just tested it out a couple nights before. I wanted to see if it would do  _ anything, _ and it didn’t, not really. I was gonna throw it out and I just--forgot.”

“But why is it okay for you to do something like that to yourself?” Grillby leaned forward, flames flickering a little.

“Because, I--I wasn’t gonna  _ force  _ anything, it wasn’t like that. Grillb, that’s why I tested it. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t gonna, yanno, totally fuck up my head or something. I wasn’t--I wasn’t looking for something that was gonna fuck me up and turn me into, I dunno, a, a horny teenager or something. Just something that would…that would make it easier, get things going. I just--wanted to not have to  _ think  _ so hard about it. I get that so rarely. I wanted to see if--it was like a switch I could turn on, and it’s not.”

Grillby rubbed at a spot on his forehead, sighing quietly.

“Sans…”

“It was still wrong of me,” Sans said, looking up at him again. “I shouldn’t have done it. And, I’m sorry. But I just, I don’t want you to think I was trying to force myself. I wouldn’t do that. I know better.”

Grillby was quiet for awhile, drumming his fingers against his arm, considering things. Sans could feel his gaze boring into him. No doubt trying to figure out if Sans was still lying.

“Apology accepted,” he said after what felt like years, and Sans had to physically stop himself from sighing in relief. “But I don’t really understand this--obsession with being ‘normal.’ There are so many ace monsters out there, Sans. It’s perfectly normal.”

“So people keep telling me,” Sans said quietly.

“And since when do you care about normal?” Grillby said with a wry look. “You drink ketchup from the bottle.”

“Heh.” Sans matched his look with an equally wry smile. “I think that’s the thing. My, uh…god, this is why I hate talking about this. It’s gonna sound so--stupid and melodramatic and pointless.”

Grilly stared at him for a moment in silence, seeming to internally debate with himself. Then, very slowly, he unfolded his arms and reached across the table. He gently laid his hand on top of Sans’s. Sans was so startled he couldn’t help but look up at him in confusion.

“I won’t think it’s stupid,” Grillby said, with more sincerity than Sans deserved. Sans didn’t think he could last long under the expression on Grillby’s face, so he stared at the hand instead. Perfectly warm, bright yellow-orange, familiar.

(God, he was so far gone.)

“My whole life, everything about me…” Sans tried to keep breathing, focusing on the glow of Grillby’s hand. “There’s so…much about me that’s… _ wrong.  _ Everything. My soul, the HP, the height, the dep--uh, the laziness. The choices I’ve made. The stuff I know. There’s so much  _ else _ about me that’s--abnormal or broken or weird. And all of it’s stuff I can’t control. None of it fluctuates. All of it’s always exactly what it is.”

Sans suddenly grinned, even though he felt a bit like he was falling apart.

“Except sex. That fluctuates. Like that night--it was so  _ good.  _ Sometimes the stars just align and everything works and on just  _ one  _ level, I feel normal. And it feels good. And--making someone else--making  _ you  _ happy like that, that feels good too. I like making you happy. I like, heh, I like knowing I did even  _ one _ thing right. That’s what I meant the other night, when I said I wanted to make you happy.”

Grillby gave his hands a little squeeze. Sans chanced a look up at his face again, expecting to see judgment or pity or worse. Grillby instead just looked contemplative, and a little sad.

And…relieved, somehow.

“I did…not know how deep this ran,” Grillby said, idly running a thumb over Sans’s knuckles. “I’m sorry, Sans. For whatever it’s worth, I’ve never thought of you as--less. Not for any reason. Weird and ridiculous, sure. But never less.”

Sans’s eyesockets closed partway and felt himself starting to tremble. He tried to pass it off as a shiver and focused on the warmth of Grillby’s hand to chase it away.

“That’s worth a lot,” he said softly, not trusting his voice. “You’ve never made me feel like less.”

“So I…” Grillby paused to give a quiet, relieved sigh. “I didn’t pressure you? I didn’t make you…I’ve tried so hard to never make you feel obligated.”

Sans’s eyesockets widened again. He’d forgotten. He’d almost completely forgotten that Grillby felt that way. He’d probably been wondering this whole time, trying to figure out what he must have done wrong.

“No,” Sans said as firmly as he could manage, looking him in the eye. “No, Grillb, never. You’re always careful--I mean you’re, you’re  _ too  _ careful sometimes, and, yanno, I’m not made of glass, so--I, heh, I mean, when I say I want it, you don’t have to always be so, uh. Cautious and--gentle. Yanno? But, no. If, uh, if I’ve felt obligated, it’s just, just my own bullshit. Never you. You’ve never pressured me, never. You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

Sans caught himself much too late. Suddenly Grillby was staring at him again, flames going a much paler yellow.

“I--”

The front door to the restaurant swung open with a clatter, making both Sans and Grillby jump. It was Dizzy’s sister, coming to collect her. She glanced over at the pair of them and gave a tired little wave. Sans practically collapsed in his seat and tugged his hands free, managing to wave back. Grillby did the same, shifting and pulling his hand away from Sans, clearing his throat.

Dizzy’s sister gathered her up, coaxing her awake. Dizzy protested sleepily as her sister steered her back out the door. The door swung closed.

Sans let out a shaky sigh. At least the interruption had killed the tension of the moment. He folded his arms back on the table again.

“That came out worse than I meant.”

“Sans.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal. It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know  _ what  _ I think.”

“It’s not like anyone ever--it wasn’t like  _ that, _ okay?”

“I’m the  _ only one,  _ Sans?” Grillby’s flames went paler still. “The  _ only one _ who hasn’t  _ pressured you into sex?” _

“Look, it’s, it’s in the past, it’s over, until you I hadn’t been with anyone for, god, probably over a decade, and it wasn’t as bad as I made it sound. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m n--what?” Any other time it would have been funny to watch Grillby splutter. “What even--why the hell would I be mad at  _ you?” _

“For…” Sans trailed off, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

Grillby stared at him with unguarded incredulity, then slowly took his glasses off so he could bury his face in a hand. There was a flurry of extra fire for a moment before he settled back down.

“Who was it?”

Sans shook his head. “No one you know. Just guys I… I’ve, uh, I’ve only been with two other people before you. One in high school, one in college. High school, I mean, everyone’s pressuring everyone, about everything. I didn’t even know I was ace yet. We were just dumb kids.”

Sans went quiet, hoping that was sufficient. He could still feel Grillby watching him.

“And?”

“And what.”

“The one in college.”

Sans didn’t answer right away.

“Grillby, I--heh, I like you and all, but I don’t--I don’t really wanna--get into my past sex life with you. Okay? Asexuality might be normal, but some--some monsters didn’t get that memo, and let’s just--leave it at that. Please?”

Grillby looked like he wanted to push, and his flames were still yellow-white, like he was just barely holding back the urge to set something on fire. It was strange to think that the anger was on Sans’s behalf, instead of  _ at  _ him. No one ever got angry on Sans’s behalf. Even Papyrus restricted himself to annoyed and disappointed. At least so far as Sans knew.

Sans just didn’t want to think about that person. It was useless to try and compare him to Grillby. They were nothing alike. Grillby had never once called Sans a freak.

“Okay,” Grillby said finally.

“Thank you,” Sans said. He heaved a long, slow sigh. “Heh, see, this is why I don’t…talk about stuff. It just gets--weird and overly dramatic. You know I hate dramatics.”

“That is not even remotely true,” Grillby pointed out. “You live with Papyrus.”

That startled Sans into a laugh. “Pfft, okay. You got me there. I like dramatics when it’s other people. Entertainment value, yanno?”

“Hmm.” Grillby reached across the table again and gently touched the back of Sans’s hand with his fingertips. “Are you…okay, though?”

“Yeah.” Sans turned his hand over and slowly laced his fingers through Grillby’s. Grillby curled his fingers tightly into Sans’s and Sans couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Now that the relief was allowed to flood his marrow he felt like he could drop at any moment. “Heh. Just exhausted from all the--soul-bearing. And--relieved. I mean, uh. We are okay, right?”

“Yes,” Grillby said quickly. “We’re okay. In fact, I think I understand you a little better now.”

“Heh. Same.”

"I know how hard it is for you to talk about yourself. This was brave of you."

"Haha, what?"

"You could have just never come back. Or not said a word, or pretended everything was normal," Grillby said softly. "I was afraid you would. I'm proud of you for not."

"I." Sans had no idea what to say. He could feel his face growing hot. "Uh. Okay. I--I guess I do feel, uh...a little better."

“See? Talking has some benefits.”

“Yeah? Not really sure I’m convinced.”

“Hm.” Grillby toyed with Sans’s fingers, studying his face. “If I kiss you, would that help?”

Sans didn’t answer, but his expression must have spoken for him. Grillby leaned across the table and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Warmth chased the relief in Sans’s marrow and he melted into it, reaching up to cup Grillby’s cheek. His soul was fluttering in his chest.

It was okay. It was actually going to be okay. There was one thing he still hadn’t ruined.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Grillby murmured when he pulled away.

“Yeah,” Sans said, smiling like a fool. “You know I love that bed of yours.”


	7. Prompt 7: Crushed (in vino veritas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a few things left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **referenced past sexual coercion and emotional abuse**

Sans sat cross-legged on the bed facing Grillby, fully clothed but feeling utterly naked. He had both of his hands cupped over his chest, like he was holding something in. Grillby had his arms folded and was watching him with an expectant, appraising look. The room around them disappeared into soft shadows.

“Hurry up,” Grillby said in a harsh tone he never used. “I don’t have all night.”

“I, I gotta work up to it,” Sans said. He was shaking, but Grillby either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “This is hard for me.”

“Well,  _ I’m  _ not gonna be hard if I have to wait much longer.”

“Sorry. Just another sec.”

He shifted his hands and a very faint glow appeared behind them against Sans’s chest. Sans gave a relieved sigh and carefully closed his hands around it, then slowly pulled them away from his chest. He held his hands out a little and then opened them to reveal a small, dimly-glowing white moth. It fluttered in his hands, reflecting how nervous he was, its wingbeats weak.

“You’re really not much to look at, huh,” Grillby said, watching the moth flutter in Sans’s cupped hands.

“Sorry.”

“Well, come on,” Grillby said, and he held out both of his hands in the same position. “Give it to me.”

“You have to be careful with it, okay?” Sans said, shaking harder. “I’m not used to this.”

“I know, I got it. Come on.”

He shouldn’t be doing this. Grillby was going to hurt it, he knew. But Sans owed him, didn’t he? People had needs.

Sans held his hands out further and tipped them slowly, coaxing the moth to flutter over into Grillby’s hands. It landed in his palms and fluttered there, faint little sparks drifting from its wings.

“Careful,” Sans said again. Grillby started to curl his fingers over the moth. “Please. I’m trusting you.”

“You need to just relax,” Grillby said and one of his fingers brushed against the moth’s wing. Sans flinched as a cold jolt rushed through him.

“Don’t hurt it,” Sans gasped as Grillby’s fingers curled further, starting to overtake the faint glow of the moth. “Please don’t hurt it, it’s all I have.”

“How pathetic,” Grillby sneered, fingers curling tighter, palms starting to press together. Sans could feel the moth starting to beat against the cage of his hands, frightened. The contact made Sans shudder with pain.

“You really have nothing to offer anyone,” Grillby snapped. “Fucking freak.”

“Don’t, you’ll crush it!” Sans tried to reach out to stop him but he could no longer move. “Please!”

In one violent movement, Grillby squished his hands together. Sans made an agonized sound, slamming his hands against his chest as he felt the moth crushed into powder. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

“No one else is ever going to want you,” Grillby said, and he laughed as a handful of sparkling powder spilled from his hands.

  
  


Sans woke with a jolt, gasping for breath, hands reaching out to try and grab something back. He ended up grabbing a fistful of sheets and twisting them between his hands before he remembered where he was. Bed. He’d been asleep.

A nightmare.

He let go of the fistful of sheets and the shivers started. He couldn’t get his breathing to even out. He curled back against the other heat source in the bed, seeking warmth. Just a nightmare. Just a stupid nightmare, just his stupid mind being stupid, just magic neurons firing all wrong, and he shouldn’t be freaking out like this, he had nightmares all the time, it wasn’t like this was out of the ordinary. Should just be used to it by now.

The other heat source in the bed stirred. Sans gave a half-hearted effort to pretend to be asleep.

“Mnnf,” Grillby mumbled as he turned slightly. “Sans?”

“Go back to sleep,” Sans whispered.

“‘S goin’ on?” Sans felt fingers press to his scapula. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Sans said, closing his eyesockets. “Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

Grillby laid his hand on Sans’s shoulder, scooting closer.

“Nightmare?”

Sans shuddered. “Yeah. No big deal.”

“Anything I can do?”

Sans didn’t answer. He just rolled over so that he was facing Grillby and curled up against him, burying his face in Grillby’s chest.

“Hey.” Grillby draped an arm around him and held him close. “You’re alright.”

“I know,” Sans said, muffled against Grillby’s flames. “‘S just stupid.”

It wasn’t fair. Which was a useless thought, because nothing was ever fair, but this just seemed  _ mean. _ They’d made up and everything was fine, and the world hadn’t even ended yet, and then his idiot psyche had to go and concoct something so ugly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grillby said, shifting so that his chin was perched on top of Sans’s head.

Right. That was the whole thing. Talking. That was a thing Sans had been doing lately. One good experience with talking didn’t mean the concept itself was sound, however. It was basic science.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, whatever scientist was left in him muttered that proof of concept required repeated experimentation.

“Just…” Sans curled a little tighter against Grillby. “Talking earlier reminded me of some stuff, I guess.”

Grillby’s warmth was helping. The shakes were beginning to stop and Sans’s breathing was slowly evening out. Grillby’s arm was still around him, and he was running his thumb up and down Sans’s humerus, soothing. It was fine. Sans was safe. Grillby would never hurt him.

How strange to be so certain of it.

“You’re nothing like him,” he whispered.

There was a very brief spike of heat from Grillby’s thumb.

“The guy in college?” Grillby held Sans a little tighter. “You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

Suddenly it all felt far away. Safely in the distance, no longer a threat, nothing but annoying scars left over.

“He called me a freak when I told him,” Sans said, keeping his face pressed to Grillby so he wouldn’t have to see his expression. “Don’t know why we kept dating after that. Seems so stupid now. He’d call me a tease. Say how I owed him. So…sometimes I’d just…let him. Cause it would shut him up, and he’d be nice for awhile.”

He fell silent, thinking. Grillby’s hand had gone still on him, and there was another flare of heat. Through his closed eyesockets, Sans could see him brighten for a moment before he calmed himself back down.

“I’m so sorry,” Grillby said very quietly, his voice strained in a way that meant he was just barely holding back anger. “You didn’t deserve that, Sans. You know that, right?”

“I guess.” Sans still wasn’t sure about that part. “But it’s…okay. He’s gone. You’re here. And I kinda…realized something.”

“What did you realize?”

“That I trust you.”

Grillby warmed up again, but this time it was slower, gentler. Not anger. He hugged Sans closer and Sans smiled despite himself.

“I’m glad.” 

Grillby pressed a kiss to the top of Sans’s skull and Sans let out a tiny breath of laughter. The tension was gone. The nightmare was gone.

He was safe.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be. You are important to me, Sans. I’m glad you feel safe with me.”

“Heh, okay, that’s, uh. That’s enough mushiness for one night. Let’s just go back to sleep, yeah?”

“Hmm.” Grillby paused thoughtfully. “Can I show you something before we do?”

Sans pulled his face away and looked up at him, blinking curiously.

“What is it?”

Grillby rolled away enough so that he could grab his phone off the nightstand. He tapped it a few times and then turned to face Sans again.

“It’s one of the texts you sent me,” he said.

“Aw, fuck.”

“I wasn’t sure what it even said at first,” Grillby said, sounding downright mischievous. “I think I have an idea now. If you just want to help me translate.”

“Translate drunk Sans? Even I can’t do that.”

Grillby smiled and turned the phone around, holding it out for Sans to see. Sans squinted at the screen. God, he was such a cliche. Drunk texting people. He hoped Grillby had been the only one. He should probably check his texts to make sure.

“‘Ill over yup,’” Sans read. “Okay. Maybe I was--”

Suddenly it clicked. Sans’s eyesockets widened and he looked up from the screen to Grillby. Sans felt his face go red hot.

Grillby was staring at him like he was the most important thing in the world.

“You said you probably didn’t mean them,” Grillby said softly. “Did you mean this one?”

“I…”

There were things Sans couldn’t even admit to himself. But apparently Drunk Sans could. Sans curled his fingers over his mouth and looked back at the screen again, grinning nervously behind his hands. It was out there now. No taking it back. No sudden Reset to undo it. At least not yet.

_ “In vino veritas,  _ I guess.”

Grillby made a soft, amused sound. He reached out and gently tugged Sans’s hands away from his mouth so he could kiss him. Sans felt his soul flutter and fill with warmth.

“I love you too, Sans.”


End file.
